On Thursday at five o'clock Harvard Square bustles with Cantabridgian commuters eager to put an end to their work days. But for twenty-five year-old Tony Throne the work is only beginning. Throne, a local street performer, pounds on his drum set--a homemade contraption of plastic buckets and dented metal casserole dishes--in front of the Coop. Though most people hurry by Throne with scarcely a glance, no one within a three-block-radius is oblivious to the seemingly incessant pounding of his bass bucket. Pimply pit rats nod their heads in cool appraisal of the rhythm; an elderly lady plugging her ears shoots Throne a contemptuous glare as the scurries by; a yuppie-ish man in a suit drops a bill into Throne's bucket without stopping to listen to a beat. But Throne is in his own world. On the rare occasions when he looks up, he's smiling a complacent half-grin. The beat goes on, and for a very good reason: for all the perks involved, street performing is Throne's main source of daily bread.

It may seem that street musicians play simply for fun, but for many it is a true source of income and a lifestyle all its own. According to Jorge Garces, a street performer with the Peruvian folk music group Inca Sun, street performance is a much more common profession in his native South America. "For us it is a tradition," he explains. Indeed, from Homer to Spanish gypsies, minstrelsy may be the civilized world's third-oldest profession--after, of course, prostitution and law. Unfortunately, says Ned Landin, a street performer known to his following as "Flathead," street performance is about as venerated in the United States as numbers one and two. "Here you get bumped into being a street person. Not that there's anything wrong with being a street person, but that's not what we are."

Landin says Cambridge, especially Harvard Square, is not so quick to judge. "People in Cambridge realize that street performance is an invaluable community-building tool." Landin proves his theory on a daily basis: Armed with an acoustic guitar, a repertoire of nearly fivehundred songs and his dog Potato, Flatheadperforms regularly in front of Store 24 to thedelight of his adoring fans. The feeling seems tobe mutual. Landin says, "The audience itself isrewarding. That's what's kept me on thestreet...With street performance, you get to sortof catch people by surprise." Unlike regular musicevents such as symphonies, where the relationshipbetween a performer and his audience is formal andpredictable, street performance "captures a randomcollection of individuals sharing a spontaneousmoment."

Athena, a popular Square folk singer, says sheagrees. "Harvard Square," says thesinger/keyboardist, "is great because people fromall over the world come here." On a sunnyafternoon when Athena was playing outsideLearningsmith, she acted as a "musical U.N.,"using her harmonies to engender ethnic harmonies.Athena says she "positioned the Indians andPakistanis together. I was a little fried, I'dbeen playing all day, but...I feel like if peoplewould only look at each other...it was sobeautiful.

Athena had a less-than-beautiful experiencewhen she was performing in the pit. A drunk man inher audience spent her entire set encouragingother audience members to sing along. According toAthena, people were responding and "it wasactually rather humorous" until the man rushed atthe bewildered musician, apparently geared forattack. "Three guys I didn't even know ran toprotect me, so that felt nice. I felt veryprotected. I guess the man was just trying to giveme a hug, but I was like, 'no.'"

A street performer's audience can provide morethan just drunk fans. One warm Sunday, whileperforming for a large crowd in front of Origins,Athena was approached by a saxophonist who wastraveling through Boston with his band. Athenainvited the mysterious stranger to jam with her;he immediately agreed and soon returned with foursaxophones and a flute. They ended up performing aimprovised duet. "it was magic," says Athena. Theysustained the "beauty" for over three hours,merging their souls in wild, passionate,uninhibited...music. "It was like musical love atfirst sight. It was beautiful." Although thesaxophonist lives three hours away, he joinsAthena's band whenever he can.

Athena wasn't always capable of this melodicmagic; rather, her success is the result of yearsof tenacity. She began performing as a backupsinger in a folk band that played at Fanueil Hall,thriving on the opportunity to play for people whomight not hear her in a club. "I just love peopleand also wanted to be able to set my own hours.'Two years ago. Athena decided to commit herself tostreet performance full time.

Of her Harvard Square debut, she says, "Iwasn't that good. I could sing, but I didn't knowhow to do a show or the ins and outs of gettinggood spots." She would play for hours to crowdsthat never seemed to gather. Athena had vowed tostay out until eleven every night, and graduallyinitiated herself into the sphere of successfulstreet performers. She reflects on her adjustingperiod, "At one point I composed songs to sing toCappy's window," her most appreciative audience.

Jay Coats, Harvard Square's only country musicperformer, began performing out-of-doors tostrengthen some of her music skills. "My voice wasstrong, but my guitar wasn't as good, so I thoughtstreet performing would be a good way to improvethat." She didn't feel ready to solo in clubs, soshe started playing in the Square last June. "Itwas definitely a career move," says Coats. Thecountry music singer now gets regular gigs atlocal clubs.

Coats has her B.A. in biology from theUniversity of Massachusetts; she used to do DNAresearch at Harvard Medical School, but she"didn't want to be in a lab with chemicals andradioactive materials." She wanted to play hermusic.

"It's kind of funny--people will come up aftera show and tell me they usually hate countrymusic, but they love the way I do it. I guessthat's a compliment, right?" she laughs.

Coats writes her own songs, but says it is"sometimes difficult to show personal stuff topeople." She manages to "sneak one or two in"during a street set. But audiences are usuallyvery receptive. "They are always saying, 'Pleasedo originals!'" she says.

Coats now loves performing in the street. "Ifyou spend time on the street, you are able tointeract with people you wouldn't otherwise." Lastweek, when playing in a club in the Square, Coatsnoticed a homeless man whom she had met whileplaying in the Square. "He saw my flier and showedup for the gig! I felt so good; it must have beenhell for him to come and buy a ticket. I had beenthinking about him recently: whether he had spentthe winter in the Square, if he was all right."

Others have expressed delight with her music.Last summer while performing, an "intriguing,attractive woman was quietly singing harmony whileI performed. After the show she came up to me andtold me how much she liked the show." As it turnedout, that woman was Sarah Hickman, a well-knownmusician on the Country-Western circuit and formermember of the Dixie Chicks. Coats was surprised;"I have a few of her CD's, but I didn't recognizeher at first." Although receiving compliments onthe street is stimulating and rewarding, Coatsadmits that it is difficult to keep a professionaldistance, making a performer more vulnerable whenon the street.

Landin concurs, "Street performing is not aseasy as it seems. A performer with a large crowdhas learned from disappointment." The hardest partabout this most public of performances, accordingto Landin, is that "you're out there, baring yoursoul, and you want someone to give it attention.'Especially during rush hour, crowds can beinsensitive to the musical and personal risks theartists may be taking: most commuters rarely stopfor longer than a glance or scowl. "You might bedoing something really good, but no one paysattention." says Landin.

Tony Throne offers a more aggressive assessmentof the necessity for the street performer tomaintain faith in self. "If you listen to whateverybody else says, you ain't getting nowhere.Everybody's trying to hold you down." The drummer,who claims he got the idea of bucket drums fromhis "cousin Larry, the 501 commercial guy in NewYork City," is currently working on an albumslated for release this summer.

Though he figures he'll be performing in theSquare "for another five years, at least, until Iget my props," Throne says heenjoys streetperformance. "I like it when everybody likes mymusic...when everybody's around me dancing. I makeeveryone happy, I don't make anyone riled up."Throne shakes off the criticism of people whoaren't into his music, saying, "They're justjealous that they can't do it."

Although Copley Place generally pays better(Throne says he earned $900 there on New Year'sEve, 1993), Throne says he likes the audience inthe Square. "There are so many styles of people, Imean you got your punk rockers, your skaters, yourcollege kids your brothers, and your fine-asssisters."

Despite the musician's love of theirB-12